


One-Man Show

by hibiren



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Acting, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Idols, Angst and Humor, Bodyguard, Celebrities, Dancing and Singing, Drinking to Cope, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, First Meetings, Idol Reno/Bodyguard Rude AU, Idols, Introspection, Loneliness, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Injuries, POV Reno (Compilation of FFVII), Reno (Compilation of FFVII)-centric, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Indulgent, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hibiren/pseuds/hibiren
Summary: Reno is a handsome, multitalented, and extremely famous idol with millions of loyal fans. Although he's primarily a performer (specializing in dancing, singing, & acrobatics), he's ironically also been able to hone his acting skills as well every night at showtime - to hide how miserable he really feels about his neverending, stressful,lonelylife on the road. Just when he thinks he's had enough of celebrity life he accidentally stumbles into a new burst of inspiration through one of his bodyguards; an awkward, mostly-silent, seemingly good-natured guy with a strange "stagename" of his own: Rude.
Relationships: Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	One-Man Show

**Author's Note:**

> I love Idol AU and I thought, why not put my favorite ff7 ship into one? Idol/Bodyguard dynamics just seem to fit really well for them and I really like where this idea took me! I hope you enjoy too :D more to come soon, I hope! (yes this is extremely self-indulgent but I had a lot of fun with it kaljdfhlafdhkl)

Another successful show, another wild crowd. But despite all the excitement, it’s just another average night. One that blurs into all the others, like the white noise of static between TV channels. It feels like it’s gonna be another night he spends alone, but, whatever. His hands can keep him company just as good as anyone else can - or he just tells himself that to keep a really bad mood swing off his back.

Reno reclines back in his chair and puts his legs up on the table. He can do that now, since they’d cleared a path for him through the swarming fans to make it to his dressing room unscathed. Mostly unscathed. The only casualty of the night is the decorative wallet chain that someone managed to yank straight off his pants, which is surprisingly less damage than usual and somehow miraculously left the rest of his waistband still intact, so he’s thankful for the minimal losses tonight. Now he’s just stuck trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his evening.

The ridiculous silver pyramid studs adorning - more like _crowding_ \- the tips of his heeled boots glimmer in the white lights of the dressing room, and he finds himself laughing as he takes a sip from the half-empty glass in his hand. It’s what his team could find on such short notice (with most of the liquor stores around being closed, too, since he drank their tour travel stock dry in less than a week - with help, of course… oops…) although it’s not bad. It’s just cheap shit, and it sure as hell tastes like it. But it’s enough to help him relax somewhat as he reaches forward to unzip each boot and kick them onto the floor.

“God, what are they _dressing_ me in these days, I look like a hot fuckin’ _mess,”_ Reno grumbles to himself, “At least I’m still hot in that case, yo.”

He waits, but nobody chimes in, nobody laughs… nothing. Of course. Because he’s alone. His crew’s got clean-up duty before they head off to their next show, which means he has a good few hours left to himself before they finish up. They’ll probably go out drinking, not that he blames them, and, honestly? He wishes he had someone he could drink with, too - not some crazed fangirl (or fanboy, he’s got quite a few of those) who stalks every place he goes to just for a chance to catch his attention for more than a second. Yikes. He hates making eye contact with his crowds for that reason and tries desperately to avoid doing it if he can.

 _Look at anyone for longer than a split second and it’s like they think they’re your fucking soulmate or something,_ Reno muses, remembering back to a local event last month when they had to escort a middle-aged lady _and_ her daughter off the premises because they kept insisting they were distant family and “needed desperately to reconnect” with Reno. It made him laugh, in a bitter sort of way, as he called over one of his bodyguards and watched them all eventually disappear into the ocean of people still lingering for pictures, autographs, and such.

_Jokes on you, I ain’t got any family; I’m a one-man show._

Reno pointedly clears his throat and takes a sip of his drink again. It burns a little more on the way down, and to offset the odd feeling blooming in his chest, he swivels the chair around and turns on the dressing room’s TV.

Unsurprisingly, it’s still turned to the local news, and they’ve just finished covering Reno’s show. He watches himself on stage, surrounded by over-the-top pyrotechnics and flashing spotlights, he’s dancing and singing like no one else is there and he’s utterly transfixed by his own performance - it’s like watching someone else piloting his body, doing all these crazy acrobatics while smiling like nothing’s wrong - like someone who’s _trained_ to smile like nothing’s wrong - even slipping a bit of a ‘tease’ to the crowd by hooking his thumbs into his belt loops and turning his back to the audience, swaying his hips in time with the heavy, thunderous beat of the music until the screaming of the crowd is too much for him to bear.

With a groan, he changes the channel. This time it looks like it’s some dumbshit reality TV show. Perfect. It’s mind-numbing enough. The two men on-screen start yelling, exchanging censored obscenities, and throwing whatever objects that are within their reach at each other _(how’d they get their hands on a whole-ass vintage record player? Man, I’d kill for one of those,_ Reno thinks to himself, wincing sympathetically as said record player shatters into at least a hundred different pieces when it hits the floor).

“Damn,” he mutters, reaching over to change the channel again. Nothing’s on. Every channel’s either boring, or all commercials. Eventually he just turns the TV off, downs the rest of his drink and sets it aside, then leans back in his chair. He’s not sure how many more nights like this he can take. The liquor just makes it bearable.

When he leans back, he doesn’t realize that he knocked the empty glass off the counter until it’s too late to catch it, and he watches in almost slow-motion as the cup shatters instantly, the moment it hits the concrete floor. _Me too,_ he finds himself thinking, wincing as he bends down and tries to pick up the pieces, feels the shards cutting into his fingertips, _me fuckin’ too._

Just then, the door opens, and someone sticks their head in to ask,

“Thought I heard something break. You okay in there?”

Reno turns his head and hates the way his hair crunches against his neck with all the hairspray that he’s still got in it, frowning as he glances from the pile of broken glass in his bloodied palms to the door, like a kid who got caught doing something he’d just been told not to do. He vaguely recognizes the face; it’s one of his security guards. The suit helps identify him, as do the official-looking sunglasses and remarkably smooth shaved head, of course.

This is the guy that never talks, never laughs, never even fucking _smiles_ when Reno cracks one of his legendary jokes. He’s so hard to read, but Reno knows, he swears he’s _seen_ a little bit of emotion in him every now and then, the tiniest hint in the slightest twitch of an eyebrow, mostly when he’s shoving people aside so Reno can get where he needs to go. Thoughtful guy… probably. Or just a guy who’s really devoted to his job.

“You’re bleeding,” says the bodyguard, and Reno can’t find himself forcing out a joke like he usually would before the man continues, “I’ll grab the first-aid kit. You got one in here?”

Blankly, Reno nods. He sits back on the floor, palms bleeding red onto his designer jeans. He’s lucky, he usually wears these things once anyway. Ruining them doesn’t matter. But tonight, he feels bad anyway. Icing on the brand-deal cake.

At this point, Reno feels numb. The twinging in his palm barely bothers him. The drinks he had earlier probably help with that. But he watches as his bodyguard shuffles around the room, brows lowered in concentration as he sifts through boxes of makeup and hair-care products to find what he’s looking for.

“You know,” Reno mutters, and the bodyguard stops moving. He holds a small white box in his hands now, but he doesn’t move when Reno speaks. “You know… you don’t gotta help me out like this. It’s late. Shouldn’t you be… uh… sleepin’?”

“I’m on the night shift tonight,” the bodyguard answers, adjusting his sunglasses before kneeling next to Reno and setting the first-aid kit beside him. He gestures for Reno’s palms by holding out his hands, and Reno can almost feel the gaze this man is giving him, behind those dark shades. Curiosity. Interest.

“Why… why you wearin’ those sunglasses anyway?” Reno asks, deflecting the sudden flutter of nervousness that bubbles up inside him when he sets his bleeding palms into the bodyguard’s gloved ones. His hands are so much bigger than Reno’s, and… they’re warm. This is really the first time he’s had true physical contact with someone outside of being slathered in makeup, choked with clouds of hairspray, or the occasional handshake with the stage managers… _oh, no._ It’s got to be the liquor talking now, because he’s starting to _think_ things about this. And he doesn’t want that at all.

“Part of the uniform,” comes the answer, calling Reno back out of his brain to wonder if this guy is joking. Is he joking? His tone is so flat, it’s hard to tell… but there might, _might_ be a hint of humor there. And _maybe_ the faintest hint of a smile, for a moment.

Reno swallows the heavy, choking lump in his throat and forces a slow breath as the bodyguard turns his hands over, then back, to inspect the damage. His palms are still bleeding, and there’s got to be at least ten different cuts on every finger… but it’s fixable.

“I… can I, um…”

“Yeah?” The man stops what he’s doing, and watches Reno carefully.

“I, uh… never got your name, yo. Figures, I… I wanna thank you properly for fixin’ me up.”

“Rude.”

“Uh… what?” Reno blinks. He winces. Maybe it came out too harsh? Too sudden?

“My name. Well. It’s what I go by here.”

“Ohh.”

Suddenly, Reno starts laughing. Rude. Rude! The guy’s name is _Rude!_ Somehow, it’s fitting but also completely bizarre at the same time. It helps Reno forget about the pain in his hands for a minute as he doubles over, laughing until he’s got tears in his eyes.

“Sorry, I’m - ! I’m sorry for laughin’, man, I just… I thought you were talkin’ ‘bout me.”

“Nah. I know. I get that a lot,” Rude says. There’s that little spark of a smile again, and then it’s gone… fucking gods, Reno wants to see that again. _More._

“Betcha do, partner.”

_...Partner?_

Reno decides at that point, to finally shut up. He knows alcohol makes him more _friendly_ but this? Flirting with his bodyguard while he’s drunk and bleeding all over himself, has got to be the least sexy first-impression he’s ever made. He hopes he’s not going to remember this tomorrow morning.

Rude is careful, _gentle_ with him, as he unfolds a small towel from the kit and holds it to one of Reno’s palms, applying even pressure to stop the bleeding. He’s quick, expertly wrapping Reno’s hand with gauze the next moment before repeating the process with his other hand.

“I feel like a zombie or somethin’,” Reno mutters, and Rude actually _chuckles_ at this.

“C’mon, let’s get you off the floor. I’m gonna clean up all this blood. Probably should get you back to your trailer for the night while we’re up…”

“Oh _fuck,_ that’s right, we gotta be on the road tomorrow… ugh.” Reno’s not ready, he was happy to have forgotten about touring for just a few hours even if it meant nearly drowning his brain in booze.

“Yeah, let’s get you back,” Rude says softly, wrapping his arm around Reno’s slender waist to pull him to stand without touching his bandaged hands, “Let’s go, partner.”

Okay, maybe he wants to remember just a few things about tonight, when he wakes up tomorrow. Reno thinks to himself, _I’m not dreaming, I’m not dreaming… am I? No, no, this is real. I’m just… really, really drunk. But I… I wanna remember this._ As he’s looping his thoughts, trying to process everything, Rude carries him easily out of the dressing room, weaving through the folded tables and sound gear backstage, and out the large back doors.

“Hey… _hey,”_ Reno mumbles, leaning heavily on Rude for support as they walk, “if… if, uh… you… you wanna keep me company tonight? My crew went partyin’ so, they won’t be back ‘til later.”

“Yeah. I’ll stay with you.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anythin’ funny,” Reno manages, as he loses his footing and stumbles forward, wincing, expecting to hit pavement any moment… but he doesn’t. Rude catches Reno easily and uses the sudden momentum to sweep his legs out from under him, so that he’s now carrying Reno bridal-style. This _has_ to be a dream, it’s way too good to be true.

“We’re almost there,” Rude says, and although Reno is sure the way he wraps his arm around Rude’s shoulders is less than graceful, he offers a drunken smile up at the man and plucks the sunglasses right off his nose with his bandaged fingers. Reno wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but before he can stop himself, he says,

 _“Holy shit, Rude,_ your eyes are fuckin’ _beautiful,_ yo.”

Without the sunglasses to hide his eyes, Rude’s face immediately turns pink, visible even in the low light as he struggles to find a way to get his glasses back. Reno just settles them on his own face and grins ridiculously, and Rude just lets this slide as he continues carrying Reno back to his trailer.

“You’d… be the first to tell me that,” Rude confesses, and Reno just frowns at that.

“Probably ‘cuz no one can see ‘em, every time I’ve seen you, you’re wearin’ these damn things! If you take ‘em off every once in a while, you’d probably be drownin’ in girls, yo. You’re a good lookin’ guy! Bet you’d get a lot of attention.”

“I…” Rude pauses, and his eyes flicker around like he’s thinking about something, but he bites his lip instead and lets out a small sigh. “I’m not really into hooking up like that. But, uh… thanks.”

“Yeah, you gotta learn to take a damn compliment every now ‘n then! Seriously, if I was a lady, I’d be kissin’ ya right now. My hero, carryin’ me off into the night when I’m too drunk to stand.”

“Can I… have my sunglasses back?” Rude asks suddenly, and Reno laughs.

“Yeah, yeah, you can have ‘em back. Wait - no way! It’s too dark out. I’m not lettin’ you drop me. Not unless it’s on my bed. Hehe.”

“That’s fair.”

Silence falls between them and when they finally make it back to Reno’s trailer, he fumbles around in his pocket for the keys and Rude lets him down so he can unlock the door. Reno stumbles through to the back and flops ungracefully toward his bed. The rest of the night is foggy, but he remembers Rude catching him before he falls; those warm, broad hands on him, undressing him laying him down in his bed again after slipping another shirt on. But at that point Reno isn’t sure if he’s dreaming, because he feels the slight brush of lips against his neck before the faint lights in his trailer go dark, and he’s left alone in his bed once again.

* * *

Reno wakes up the next morning feeling like absolute shit. Everything’s… moving? And it just makes the nausea that overwhelms him as he sits up even worse. They must be back on the road again. His head is pounding, and he fumbles around his side table for a bottle of water… but someone holds one out to him before he can reach. Gloved hands… half-buttoned suit jacket… and sunglasses.

“Rude?”

“Morning, princess,” Rude says, flashing him a tiny, awkward grin as Reno takes the water from him and downs nearly half of it in one go.

“Thought you went back after last night?” Reno asks, wiping his mouth against the sleeve of his shirt. But it’s not the shirt he was wearing yesterday. His hands are still bandaged up, but instead of his dressy performance clothes, he’s just in his underwear and… _Rude’s shirt._

“I cleaned you up a little,” Rude answers, “Didn’t want you getting blood in your bed. Those sheets look expensive…”

“Mm… thanks for that, then… but that still doesn’t explain why - ” Reno slowly forces his eyes open and then it dawns on him that beneath that suit jacket, there’s no shirt. And he looks really, _really_ good like that. No - no, that’s got to be last night’s drinks talking, still… is it?

“Why?”

“ - why you’re here with me? I’ve never had anyone stick around after takin’ me back. ‘Specially not when I’m on the road. Usually people just drop me an’ run. They can’t stand bein’ ‘round me for longer than they gotta for work. Not that I blame ‘em at all.”

“Well, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Someone’s gotta change your bandages, and your driver’s got his hands full getting you to your next show. They won’t miss me, anyway. I’ll just grab my stuff when we meet up at the next town.”

Reno carefully lays back against his pillow and breathes in, holds it for a moment, before letting it out in a soft, nervous sigh. “That’s… really nice of you. Thanks.”

“Just doing my job,” Rude says, and Reno can hear the smile in his voice even though he isn’t looking. “You need anything?”

“Nah… just… I just wanna lay here for a bit. I didn’t do anything funny last night, did I?”

“Other than steal my sunglasses, no, not really.”

“Huh… I… I kinda remember that. Can I just, uh, say sorry now for anything I did last night?”

“Sure.”

Reno feels a hand against his leg and a familiar warmth runs through him at the contact. It feels _good_ to know that someone cares about him outside of the bare minimum to keep their job, and… maybe it’s just his loneliness talking, but he wants to spend more time with Rude. Maybe there’s someone he can talk to, make some arrangements, pull some strings… so that they can stay like this for a while. Having company is nice. But having company that doesn’t gossip about him, or throw themselves at him when he’s too exhausted to even _think_ about hooking up, is a welcome change. The next show should bring new opportunities, for both of them, and Reno feels oddly excited as he starts formulating a plan. Starts - his head still hurts. He’ll have to resume planning later, when it doesn’t feel like he’s got someone pounding drums on the inside of his skull.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought, I'd love to read your opinions on this!
> 
> If you wanna keep up with me on twitter you can find me there as [duskynebula](https://twitter.com/duskynebula)! (My blog does contain/share NSFW content!)


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